Deadly Allies
by 1967HogwartsGoddess
Summary: A twist at the end of OOTP sets Harry off in a whole new direction. Lines become blurred, allies become traitors, traitors become allies. Harry doesn't know who to trust. But the Dark Lord won't wait for him to get back on his feet. It's time to end this.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey yall, because I'm a mess of brilliance and self destruction, I decided to start a new fic. This one has been planned meticulously (for the next few chapters anyway). Hope ya like it, review if you want more.**

 **Lots of it will be copied directly from the book, I don't own those parts, hopefully you can tell when it gets to my ideas. There will only be a little left of the original book in the next two chapters or so, just to start it off, then it's completely my own writing, kay?**

 **Right uh I guess here are some trigger warnings for the whole fic- Violence, gore and a whole lot of swearing. Lot. Of. Swearing. Maybe some implied smut if I get round to it hey who knows.**

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Chapter 1

" _Stupefy_!"

The second spell hit Sirius square in the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore too, turned towards the dais.

It seemed to take Sirius and age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.

Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway, and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place.

Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing- Sirius had only fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second...

But Sirius did not reappear.

"SIRIUS!" Harry yelled. "SIRIUS!"

He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain and he, Harry, would pull him back out...

But as he reached the ground and sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry-"

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

"-it's too late, Harry."

"We can still reach him-" Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry... Nothing... He's gone."

"He's hasn't gone!" Harry yelled.

He did not believe it; he would not believe it; still he fought Lupin with every bit of strength that he had. Lupin did not understand; people hid behind that curtain; Harry had heard them whispering the first time he had entered the room. Sirius was hiding, simply lurking out of sight-

"SIRIUS!" He bellowed. "SIRIUS!"

"He can't come back, Harry," Lupin said, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. "He can't come back, because he's d-"

"HE- IS- NOT- DEAD!" Roared Harry. "SIRIUS!"

There was movement going on around them, pointless bustling, the flashes of more spells. To Harry, it was meaningless noise, the deflected curses flying past them did not matter, nothing mattered except that Lupin should stop pretending that Sirius- who was standing feet from them behind that old curtain- was not going to emerge at any moment, shaking back his dark hair and eager to re-enter the battle.

Lupin dragged Harry away from the dais. Harry, still staring at the archway, was angry at Sirius now for keeping him waiting-

But some part of him realised, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before... Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry, to help him... if Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back... that he really was...

Dumbledore had most of the remaining Death Eaters grouped in the middle of the room, seemingly immobilised by invisible ropes; Mad-Eye Moody had crawled across the room to where Tonks lay, and was attempting to revive her, behind the dais there were still flashes of light, grunts and cries- Kingsley had run forward to continue Sirius's duel with Bellatrix.

"Harry?"

Neville had slid down the stone benches one by one to the place where Harry stood. Harry was no longer struggling against Lupin, who maintained a precautionary grip on his arm nevertheless.

"Harry... I'b really sorry..." said Neville. His legs were still dancing uncontrollably. "Was dad man- was Sirius Black a- a friend of yours?"

Harry nodded.

"Here," said Lupin quietly, and pointing his wand at Neville's legs he said, "Finite." The spell was lifted; Neville's legs fell back to the floor and remained still. Lupin's face was pale. "Let's- let's find the others. Where are they all, Neville?"

Lupin turned away from the archway as he spoke. It sounded as though every word was causing him pain.

"Dey're all back dere," said Neville. "A brain addacked Ron bud I dink he's all righd- and Herbione's unconscious, bud we could feel a bulse-"

There was a loud bang and a yell from behind the dais. Harry saw Kingsley hit the ground, yelling in pain: Bellatrix Lestrange turned tail and ran as Dumbledore whipped around. He aimed a spell at her but she deflected it; she was halfway up the steps now-

Harry- no!" cried Lupin, but Harry had already ripped his arm from Lupin's slackened grip.

"SHE KILLED SIRIUS!" bellowed Harry. "SHE KILLED HIM- I'LL KILL HER!"

And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches; people were shouting behind him but he did not care. The hem of Bellatrix's robes whipped out of sight ahead and they were running, Harry sprinting as fast as he could, through doors, through rooms, past bodies. Angry tears were wrenched out his eyes and he blinked them away furiously.

He skidded around a corner into a room they hadn't been in before, empty shelves lining the walls, and ducked as a fine shower of rock fell on his shoulders, a deep gouge in the wall behind him suddenly appearing.

There was only one way out of the dark room, and that was the way they had come in. He had her trapped. Bellatrix was like a cornered tiger, ready to pounce, stood in the opposite corner with a sick smile on her face.

"Hawwy, Hawwy, Hawwy," She shook her head in a twisted parody of a scolding mother, as she cackled maniacally. "Here for little old me? Here to avenge my dear cousin Sirius?"

"I am!" Harry shouted furiously, raising his wand.

"Aaaaaah... did you _love_ him, little baby Potter?"

Harry felt a fury in him rise like he'd never known, a hatred so profound he saw nothing but red.

" _Crucio_!" He bellowed.

Bellatrix screamed as it hit her, but she didn't writhe like Neville had, like he had. It looked like it had barely affected her. She was about to get up again; his spell had worn out; her wand hand was lifting.

Something changed deep inside of him.

" _Crucio_!" He shouted again, as a sensation shot down his arm, of a churning darkness in his veins.

She screamed again, this time bucking off of the floor and howling like an alley cat. The grip on her wand loosened and- as he walked forwards, the spell still on her- he kicked her wand to the side. The wood clattered across the black marble floor.

He let the spell go and she threw herself back, her chest heaving. Her dark eyes were focused on her wand not too far away. Harry raised his wand to point at her as blood thundered through his brain.

"First time at an unforgivable, boy?" She laughed, she _laughed_ , a dark emotion dancing on her face, looking upwards at him through her heavily lidded eyes. "Perhaps there's hope for you after all-"

" _Incarcerous_!" Harry yelled.

But she was already diving to the side, her fingers curling around the wand, firing a spell as she turned.

" _Protego_!" Harry shouted, deflecting it back as quickly as he could, her speed was incredible.

She let it explode behind her, already casting again.

" _Crucio_!"

He ducked, whirling round.

" _Reducto_!"

" _Imperio_!" Bellatrix shrieked, batting aside his spells as if they were mere nuisances.

" _Stupefy_!"

" _Diffindo_!" Harry hissed as it caught him across the arm painfully.

Harry knew he couldn't beat her in close combat. He'd had an idea but it was _mad._

" _Crucio!"_

He dodged another unforgivable, slinging back a bombarding curse that blew up the wall behind her.

Now or never!

Harry stopped moving, widened his eyes, pointing his wand over Bellatrix's shoulder.

"VOLDEMORT!" He shouted, pretending to be afraid of a figure behind her.

Bellatrix span around, knees bending, ready to sink to her knees, a desperate yet adoring expression on her face as she turned to her master.

But there was no one there.

She turned her head back, dark locks whipping around her shoulders, a bright red reflected in the shine of her eyes as Harry's spell caught her before she realised he had tricked her.

It was over quickly: her body fell to the floor with a final thump, arms falling outwards, like the strings holding her up were cut off.

Her head landed several feet away as a spray of blood spattered across his face.

Harry stood still for several minutes; his arm still outstretched; just staring blankly at the floor. A severing charm was the first spell he had thought of, he didn't... he wasn't...

He recoiled. Harry turned his head to the side and threw up, tears forced out of him, the shock of what he had done diminishing with each retch. She- she was obsessed with Voldemort- he- he thought it would _distract_ her- but...

He wiped his mouth when he was done before standing up, albeit shakily. Her eyes were still open, but the shine was gone- they looked like glass.

He breathed in a rasping breath and walked forwards slowly, bending down to grasp Bellatrix's wand from the floor. Harry held it tightly in his left hand; he didn't know what to do.

She killed Sirius- she deserved it, he told himself. She did. She tortured Neville- she tortured his parents- she killed Sirius- she killed his godfather- she _deserved_ it!

Harry's hands were trembling, in anger or something else, he didn't know, but he clenched them even tighter and, with his stare focused ahead of him instead of on the headless body on the floor, he stepped over her. The back of his trainer splashed slightly in the growing pool of crimson. He walked out without looking back, going around the debris of the shattered walls. His eyes were flickering, unsure if he had done the right thing, but Harry just kept reminding himself what she had done.

They hadn't run far; he knew the room with the dais in it was just around the corner. The room where Sirius had-

Harry's scar began to burn intensely- he slapped a hand against the nearest wall to support him, digging his other fist onto his forehead. The marble wall was cool, and he pressed his hot face onto it.

Around the corner, he heard a crack, followed by screams.

"Dumbledore." It was quiet and arrogant, in a voice Harry knew all too well. "I did not expect to you to be here tonight." Voldemort continued as Harry listened.

"You were foolish to try something like this, Tom." Harry heard Dumbledore reply, as if he was still his teacher scolding him.

"And you were foolish to think you could stop it," Voldemort said softly, "and it seems Black has paid the price."

"Sirius died with honour." Dumbledore replied, the tone of his voice getting slightly harder.

"And where is, Potter?" Voldemort hissed. "I know he's here."

"What you were looking for has been destroyed, Tom. You have no business here." Dumbledore said, back in a calm tone.

Harry pushed off from the wall, steadying himself slightly. His scar was on fire, and he felt a surge of fury that was unconnected with his own burning rage. Voldemort was angry, and for a second, Harry felt a flash of being in another's body, watching Dumbledore from another's eyes. Then he was back in his own body, staggering.

He dimly heard Voldemort shriek madly from the next room.

"POTTER!" He snarled furiously. "Come _out_!"

Harry swallowed before straightening his back and stepping round. His footsteps echoed as he entered the room, gasps and cries emerging as people spotted him.

Tall, thin and black-hooded, his terrible snake-like face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupilled eyes staring... Lord Voldemort was stood opposite Dumbledore, but now turned his back on him completely.

Harry stopped moving at the bottom of the stairs, both wands held tersely in his hands, tips to the ground. He looked into Voldemort's eyes.

People were slowly raising their wands to point at Voldemort, surrounding him, outnumbering him with a tense silence.

Voldemort paid them no attention.

"Potter." He said quietly. "You smashed my prophecy."

Harry didn't say anything, just kept looking at him. But his hands twitched, ready to curse him at the slightest movement.

Voldemort's eyes flicked downwards and whatever he was about to say, died in his mouth.

"That is Bella's wand." He remarked dangerously, staring at Harry deeply with those pitiless red eyes.

"I know." replied Harry, unblinking, trying to keep his breathing even.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, scanning Harry, before he turned a look of the utmost loathing onto Harry.

"That is Bella's blood." Voldemort snarled.

Harry breathed out. He knew he was covered, he could feel it on him.

"It is." Harry said, tears still shamelessly trickling down his face, the words loud in the silent chamber.

Behind Voldemort, Dumbledore looked at Harry with wide eyes full of pure shock. Harry heard someone inhale sharply behind him, and didn't have to look up to know the horrified expressions on the rest of the room.

"If this is the game we are to play, Harry, so be it." Voldemort said quietly, barely concealed fury hiding in his blood red eyes. He lifted his wand.

Harry's arm shot up to point at him, but it turned out it wasn't necessary.

There were footsteps behind him, too many to be just one person. Harry didn't lower his wand, and neither did Voldemort, but Voldemort's glare was switching back and forth between him and whoever was behind him.

Voldemort finally settled on him, and gave one last low threat in a voice of sheer malice.

"You _will_ suffer for this, Harry. Death will be a mercy."

A small breeze started up, ruffling the edges of Voldemort's cloak before he disappeared completely in a matter of seconds, grey wind hiding him from sight as he left.

Harry felt his shoulders slump and he hitched in a breath. A hand encircled his wrist, gently lowering it for him, and Harry looked up into Lupin's eyes. The werewolf glanced sideways.

Harry turned his head in time to see Fudge start to splutter.

"What in Merlin's name- he- _You-Know-Who_ \- here- how- great heavens _above_ \- it's not true- he-" Fudge gibbered.

Harry felt his nose begin to wrinkle in disgust.

The Aurors behind Fudge looked terrified.

"You-know-who!" Breathed one of them, clutching his red robes.

"He was here, I swear!" One turned to another, grabbing their arm.

"I saw him, I saw him!" The woman gasped.

"He's back!" Fudge said in a voice of pure terror.

"What," Harry began, stepping forwards, "the _fuck_ do you think we've been trying to tell you?" He snapped.

Fudge looked at him in shock, as if he had just noticed he was there. Remus still had a hold of Harry's wrist, as Harry glared at the Minister.

Dumbledore stepped in-between them, turning to Harry.

"Cornelius, this will all be explained. But you _will_ wait for me to sort things out."

"Why is he covered in blood?" Fudge spluttered, pointing at Harry with a wavering finger.

Harry saw a few Aurors' wands twitch, and narrowed his eyes at them. He could feel eyes on his second wand, but didn't bother to hide it. He was sick of everyone looking at him. They could think what they want, he didn't care anymore. What were they going to do? Put him in Azkaban?

Fudge's mouth was open and his round face was growing pinker.

Dumbledore pressed an object into Harry's hands.

"I'll join you in a few minutes." He told Harry quietly.

Harry couldn't tell if he was angry or concerned for him and frankly, Harry didn't give a damn what he was feeling or thinking.

"I will be there soon," Dumbledore told him, "Three... two... one..."

Then Harry was pulled away from the scene, the floor vanishing from under his feet, and he was hurtling forward in a spiral of chaos...

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 **Wowza. So, yay or nay? The pairing for this fic will not be canon, I don't think. I dunno. Let me plan more. I've planned up to like chapter 8, and I just can't get this fic out of my head. On another note, I've also started to learn nunchucks. From bad YouTube videos, of course, but I'm doing okay so far!**

 **Please review what you think! I'll even consider ideas where you want this to go, there's a plan but it doesn't have to be definite. Sometimes there are some ideas people review that are way better than what I have planned.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yo I thought I had loads of people following me? Where yall at? You think I can't see who's read this and who hasn't? Just review, jeez, I've gone through all this like four times and the anxiety never gets any better.**

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Chapter 2

Harry's feet hit solid ground; his knees buckled a little and the portkey dropped out his hand to the floor. He looked around and saw that he had arrived in Dumbledore's office. Harry looked through the window. There was a cool line of pale green along the horizon: Dawn was approaching.

Harry closed his eyes and put his hands on his head.

It was his fault Sirius had died; it was all his fault. If he, Harry, had not been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trick, if he had not been so convinced that what he had seen in his dream was real, if he had only opened his mind to the possibility that Voldemort was, as Hermione had said, banking on Harry's pathetic love of playing the hero . . .

It was unbearable, he would not think about it, he could not stand it. . . .

There was a terrible hollow inside him he did not want to feel or examine, a dark hole where Sirius had been, where Sirius had vanished. He did not want to have to be alone with that great, silent space, he wouldn't. And there was guilt crawling up his spine, burrowing into his very soul as he stared at the blood on his hands, some of his own and some not. He couldn't believe what had happened, surely he would wake up soon-

Harry strode across the room and seized the doorknob. It would not turn. He was shut in.

Harry started breathing quicker, angry tears spilling out of his eyes in frustration. He tugged again on the doorknob behind his back, but it remained immovable.

The guilt filling the whole of Harry's chest like some monstrous, weighty parasite was now writhing and squirming. Harry could not stand this, he could not stand being Harry anymore. . . . He had never felt more trapped inside his own head and body, never wished so intensely that he could be somebody — anybody — else. . . .

The empty fireplace burst into emerald-green flame, making Harry leap away from the door, staring at the man spinning inside the grate.

Dumbledore's tall form unfolded itself from the fire.

He walked over to his desk and sat down behind it, taking a deep breath.

"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, turning to him, "you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events."

Harry tried to say "Good," but no sound came out. It seemed to him that Dumbledore was reminding him of the amount of damage he had caused by his stupid actions tonight, and although Dumbledore was for once looking at him directly, and though his expression was kindly rather than accusatory, Harry could not bear to meet his eyes and acknowledge him. He nodded once.

"Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up now," said Dumbledore. "Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St Mungo's, but it seems that she will make a full recovery."

The sky outside grew paler.

Tonks was hurt in a duel with Bellatrix.

Bellatrix's blood was smeared across his face, he realised, wiping at it dimly.

He was sure that all the portraits around the room were listening eagerly to every word Dumbledore spoke, wondering where Dumbledore and Harry had been and why there had been injuries.

"Let me out." Harry croaked; he did not want them to know what had happened, why it had happened, what he had done-

"No." Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and stared out of the opposite window. He could see the Quidditch stadium in the distance. Sirius had appeared there once, disguised as Padfoot, so he could watch Harry play. . . . He had probably come to see whether Harry was as good as James had been. . . . Harry had never asked him. . . .

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore's voice. "On the contrary . . . the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength."

Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words.

He squashed it down, trying desperately to ignore it, no matter how hard his arms were shaking.

"Harry?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

It was too much. Harry turned around, trembling with rage.

"What does the prophecy say?" He said, his voice splintering with anger, at Dumbledore, at himself, even at Sirius for leaving him here...

"Harry, please, sit down-"

"WHAT DOES IT SAY?" Harry bellowed, clenching his fists so hard he knew that he had broken the skin.

He wanted this to be over, he wanted it all over. He wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the clear blue eyest staring at him, that hatefully calm old face.

"There is more you need to hear-" Dumbledore said after a beat, so peacefully and so quietly, that Harry thought he was going to explode with the rage that had risen within him, the anger that pushed his heart to the max, thumping loudly inside his chest.

The sun was rising properly now. There was a rim of dazzling orange visible over the mountains and the sky above it was colorless and bright. The light fell upon Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his face.

Harry could tell that the portraits all around them were awake and listening raptly to their argument. He could hear the occasional rustle of robes, the slight clearing of a throat, the occasional mutter directed at Harry and the way he was addressing the headmaster.

Harry didn't give a damn. He wanted answers.

"What does it say?" He said, quiet now, but with no less venom.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face in his long-fingered hands. Harry watched him, but this uncharacteristic sign of exhaustion, or sadness, or whatever it was from Dumbledore, did not soften him. On the contrary, he felt even angrier that Dumbledore was showing signs of weakness. He had no business being weak when Harry wanted to rage and storm at him. Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses.

"It is time," he said, "for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I ask only a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me — to do whatever you like — when I have finished. I will not stop you."

Harry glared at him for a moment, then flung himself back into the chair opposite Dumbledore and waited. Dumbledore stared for a moment at the sunlit grounds outside the window, then looked back at Harry and said, "Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well — not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt anduncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years."

He paused. Harry said nothing but his eyes burned with a raging fire. He had known. Whatever trust Harry had invested into Dumbledore over so many years shattered into pieces. He had known.

"You might ask — and with good reason — why it had to be so. Why could some Wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honored and delighted to raise you as a son. My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but myself realized. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters — and many of them are almost as terrible as he — were still at large, angry, desperate, and violent."

Without either of them saying any names, Harry knew who he was talking about. Well. She wasn't a threat now. Harry had made sure of that.

"One isn't anymore." He didn't look Dumbledore in the eye as he said this.

"Harry- I-" Dumbledore's eyes were full of compassion, which Harry didn't want. It was just like pity.

"Just keep going." He waved him off.

Dumbledore continued sadly.

"With that in mind, I had to make my decision too, with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone forever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty, or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you.

I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power. But I knew too where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated — to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative."

"She didn't love me," said Harry at once. "She doesn't give a fuck—"

"But she took you," Dumbledore cut across him without a mention of his profanity. "She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you.

While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years-"

"What's this got to do with the prophecy?" Harry interrupted, tired of the old man's ramblings.

"Five years ago, then," continued Dumbledore, as though he had not paused in his story, "you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.

And then . . . well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you, and sooner — much sooner — than I had anticipated, you found yourself face-to-face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was . . . prouder of you than I can say. "

And Quirrel had been left dead at the end of it, Harry thought. Perhaps Bellatrix was not the first person he had killed.

"Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine," said Dumbledore. "An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort."

"I don't understand what you're saying," said Harry bluntly.

"Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?"

Harry nodded silently.

"Ought I to have told you then?"

Harry stared into the blue eyes, his heart racing again.

"Yes." He spat.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly.

"You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No . . . perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age.

I should have recognized the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognized that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day. . . . You were too young, much too young.

And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced. Once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark upon you. We discussed your scar, oh yes. . . . We came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?

Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in me to spoil that night of triumph. . . .

Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now?

I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid."

"I don't —"

"I cared about you too much," said Dumbledore simply. "I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act. Is there a defense? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have to not want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.

We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry?

But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy, Harry. I knew the time must come soon. . .

But you came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself . . . and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defense is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school, and I could not bring myself to add another — the greatest one of all."

Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak.

"And?" He snapped desperately, the unnecessary waiting stressing him further.

"Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you."

The sun had risen fully now. Dumbledore's office was bathed in it.

The glass case in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor resided gleamed white and opaque. Behind him, Fawkes made soft chirruping noises in his nest of ashes.

"The prophecy's smashed," Harry said blankly.

"The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly."

"Just tell me." said Harry wearily.

He didn't think Dumbledore could look any older, but he was proved wrong as the headmaster rubbed his eyes and sighed.

Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple.

From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand, and deposited them in the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip. A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous sizes behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sibyll Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use once before.

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES. . . . BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . . AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT . . . AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES. . . . THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES. . . ."

The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished.

The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had

fallen silent.

"It means," said Dumbledore quietly, "that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

Harry felt as though something was closing in upon him.

Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses.

"The odd thing is, Harry," he said softly, "that it may not have meant you at all. Sibyll's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

Harry didn't speak.

"The official record was relabeled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child," said Dumbledore. "It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sibyll was referring."

"Then — it might not be me?" said Harry.

"I am afraid," said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, "that there is no doubt that it is you. It is in the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort. . . . Voldemort himself would 'mark him as his equal.' And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse. He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him," said Dumbledore. "And notice this, Harry. He chose, not the pureblood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing), but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far — something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved."

Harry felt numb and cold inside.

"Our one stroke of luck is that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head Inn, which Sibyll chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sibyll Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. Thankfully, the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building."

"So . . . ?"

"He heard only the first part, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you — again marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait or to learn more. He did not know that you would have 'power the Dark Lord knows not."

Harry shook his head. He didn't have any powers. He just seemed to make every situation worse.

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries," said Dumbledore, "that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight, to save the youngest Weasley all those years ago. Love, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes. If he had not gone to save Sirius, Sirius would not have died. His love wasn't that strong, else he would have known. The more you loved, the more you had to lose.

More to stave off the moment when he would have to think of Sirius again, Harry asked, without caring much about the answer, "The end of the prophecy . . . it was something about . . . 'neither can live. . . .' "

" '. . . while the other survives,' " said Dumbledore.

"So," said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him, "so does that mean that one of us has got to kill the other one . . . in the end?"

"Yes," whispered Dumbledore.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Somewhere far beyond the office walls, Harry could hear the sound of voices, students heading down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, perhaps. It seemed impossible that there could be people in the world who still desired food, who laughed, who neither knew nor cared that Sirius Black was gone forever. Sirius seemed a million miles away already, even if a part of Harry still believed that if he had only pulled back that veil, he would have found Sirius looking back at him, greeting him, perhaps, with his laugh like a bark. . . .

"Fine." Harry said eventually. "I'll do it."

Something settled on his shoulders, heavy and pulling, but when he stood up, pushing the chair away, it remained there.

"Harry, you can't imagine how sorry-"

"I don't care." Harry cut him off quietly, turning away and opening the now unlocked door. "I just don't care anymore."

Harry began to walk down the stairs, glancing back once as he left. He saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore's face into his long silver beard. Harry didn't look back again.

 **000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

 **Once again, a lot taken from the book. It'll divert majorly in the next chapter, go back to the book, then veer again. I'm trying to keep this as canon/in character as possible, I'm trying to write in her style too. She uses lots of punctuation, like jeez.**


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